


The Losing Game

by JuniperMoon



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Craquaria - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Break Up, Pre-smut, Unrequited Love, cracker needs to be held, i wrote this instead of working on like 3 projects, non-au, or so he thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuniperMoon/pseuds/JuniperMoon
Summary: Sometimes, Max can’t help the fact that he gets trapped by nostalgia.  It only takes a few dusty boxes of old photographs and trinkets for him to find himself sitting on the ground, eagerly poring through whatever physical memories he can find.  Funnily enough, the process is a bit like what he’s trying to avoid grieving over: something he tears apart but can never seem to put back together how it was.Oh, how he wishes he could.





	1. Chapter 1

Max isn’t sure how he got so off track.

He had sworn to himself that this would be the day he’d finally deal with the horror show that was his closet. Katelyn had been so relieved when he casually mentioned cancelling plans to stay home and clean.

Instead of “where should I put this,” however, his thoughts turned to “I haven’t looked through here in a while.” He knows there’s work to be done, but that can wait for now.

The weight of the box he pulls off of the top shelf of his closet knocks him back, almost making him lose his footing. If he’s honest with himself, he’d be more worried about what’s inside being harmed than himself. He’s not ready to admit that he remembers the day he had to stow away everything that carried a connection to the best mistake of his life. Maybe it’ll be easier on him if he feigns surprise.

Taking a deep breath, he sets the dusty cardboard box on the ground and plops himself behind it. He feels so small, even though he’s staring down at what would be junk to anybody else.

“Well, would you look at that,” he murmurs as he picks up a faded yellow t-shirt. The tiny holes throughout the fabric and the cracked iron-on of woodland creatures advertising some summer vacation destination all complement each other as signs of junk that should have been donated years ago. Hell, not even a goodwill shopper would give it a second look.

As Max feels the soft cotton, though, he can only see it on Aquaria, after a long day of secret adventures, exchanged knowing looks, caresses, kisses, laughing at each other’s (and their own) jokes. He smells it even though every siren in his mind tells him not to, tells him that it’s going to be too painful, and it absolutely is. Just as the smell of chocolate chip cookies can instantly bring up a mother’s focused expression as she mixes batter, the scent of the ratty t-shirt is the crinkle of his eyes as he smiled, hopefully because of Max. It was always an honor to see Aquaria smile, especially when it was because of him.

 

 _Why did I hold onto this_ , Max ponders, knowing full well that it was because it only had meaning to him and Aquaria, and letting go of it would erase that.

He exhales. He didn’t even know he was holding his breath.

“Okay, I really need to get back to cleaning,” he blurts to nobody. The words have no weight: he doesn’t move a muscle. What’s the point in trying to convince himself when everything leads back to Gio?

_No, not Gio. Not anymore. Aquaria._

Aquaria, who held Max when he didn’t believe in himself, ended up believing in herself a little too much. Before they could declare it started, it disappeared. Maybe they shared a sealed bond without the words, but they should have said the words to keep each other from slipping away. To spare Max the weeks of being in the dark, of phone calls straight to voicemail, of sleepless nights spent shaking in a tight ball, of feeling as if any moment, he’d break down.

At least he had the courtesy to send a text.

Max digs deeper into the crate and feels the one thing he thought he wouldn’t be able to see without feeling his heartstrings rip apart at the already-weak seams. He’s embarrassed of the gasp that escapes his mouth before he even pulls out the picture.

When he pulls it out, his brain turns into a broken record on the highest speed, a mess of “my fault,” “gone,” and “where did I go wrong?” The photo was taken in Gio’s bed - _he’s too far in, so he can call him by his real name_ \- but it’s innocent. Every bit of it makes him ache, from the familiar sheets to Gio’s shirt: another one that meant the world to only them. Nothing hurts him as much as seeing the true, unfiltered, off-guard smile he captured by “accidentally” pressing the camera button before he was ready. They’re both blurry, and Max remembers adding sloppy motion lines to drawings as a kid to prove that something was going fast. The whole time they were together, their life was a blur of motion lines: all the good times were in fast forward.

Gio must have started going too fast for him to keep up with.

The crinkle in his eyes, the _real image_ this time, is far more piercing than the memory that he thought would be enough. He sees how relaxed the past version of himself looked, head on Gio’s chest with a lazy arm draped around him, and suddenly feels cold.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says to the air, trying to make himself stop pouring salt into his own barely-healed wounds. A sick part of him feels like he deserves this, that he was the one who messed things up in the first place, so he should feel the pain. He bets that plain Miz Cracker hadn’t crossed the mind of the flawless, icy Aquaria since that fateful text. Against every siren in his head telling him not to, he searches his messages for the last messages he sent to him.

_max: Hey, it’s been a while. Want to go out?  
gio  <3: im sorry. ive been so busy w/ work lately that i dont think i can do this  
max: Oh thats okay, maybe another time?  
gio <3: no like. this whole thing. i really like you but i cant handle it with everything else  
max: Wait can you call me I want to work this out, I want to be with you  
gio <3: im so sorry i cant right now. i want to be with you too but ig the time isnt right.  
max: Gio please talk to me you mean a lot and I don’t want to lose this  
gio <3: Max i told you i can’t. i’m done. Call me if there’s an emergency._

Max feels dread pooling in his stomach as he remembers his shaking hands calling Gio the moment he received the final text, and instantly hearing his voicemail message. He smacks his forehead when he notices that he never changed Aquaria’s contact name back to something professional. The only texts after those were his own pleas for a return, all of which went unanswered. Wasn’t his heartbreak big enough of an emergency?

 _It’s because I was never good enough_ , he thinks. Aquaria skyrocketed into the one to watch, the name on everybody’s lips, the body taking over every stage. Miz Cracker was certainly beloved by plenty of people, but she was never so busy that she’d leave the person she cared the most about in the dust.

Max tries to conjure up a reason to be angry, but it all morphs into hopelessness. He’s so sure that he’s not going to cry, not going to shed any more tears over some guy that probably never even loved him --

\-- that he lets out a broken sob that he’s been trying and failing to keep stuck in for the past twenty minutes. So much for not getting attached to something that could have never worked out. He immediately clenches his hands over his mouth; it’s too humiliating for him to hear his own desperation. 

His breathing is shallow and uneven, and his quivering hands pull his knees to his chest. He stares at a spot on the carpet a few feet ahead of him. He doesn’t think he can handle anything involving moving for a few minutes, so he lets the bottled up emotions flow out of him, cleansing his mind of the past two months of self-hate and what-ifs.

The incoming dusk creeps through the window, gently illuminating his bookcase with a warm orange glow. Why was it that every time he tried to love, he ended up with the losing hand?  
He needs to have closure so he won’t have any more excuses for wallowing.

Max feels around for his phone and picks it up once more. He’s done with the past; this is his chance to fix his future.

He scrolls through his contacts, finds the name that makes his arms feel empty, and hits call.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max makes a fateful phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bitch is back! sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, now that it's summer i promise i'll have more regular content!! i hope this chapter makes up for the wait ;)

Max holds the phone away from his face, as if it were a bomb about to explode. He doesn’t even know what would be worse: rejection, or actually talking to Aquaria again. The ringing is distant in his palm.

A part of him prays she’s not there, that she just texts him asking what he needed. Then, he could play it off like it never mattered. _Just like she did._

The phone rings a fifth time, and then he hears the crackling voice that shoots electricity through his body.

_“Hey, you’ve reached Aquaria, I’m busy right now but leave a message and I’ll call you back.”_

His heart sinks upon hearing the soft, authentic Gio, even if it is just a recording. It’s just the same as the last unanswered call he made months ago: the relaxed tone, the smile at the end. If he kept telling himself that it was for the better to avoid Aquaria, then why does the rejection hurt so much? Max is sure that everything happens for a reason, so it must be a sign that it was never meant to be, that he should have just kept cleaning as normal, that he should have thrown out the old t-shirt and photos the day he got the texts.

He digs his fingernails into his palm with his free hand as he starts to throw his phone onto his bed, but catches it when he feels a buzz. A ring. Out of the corner of his eye, he can’t help but notice the blonde wig in the contact picture.

He’s not ready.

He’ll never be ready. But this is his only shot.

He exhales and taps the green button.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” A beat. In that fragment of a pause, Max feels like his skin has been set on fire, and he’s ready to claw it all off of him. “So… what’s up?”

Max is too distracted by the fact that he’s _finally_ talking to Gio again to be frustrated with how lightly he’s taking it. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he says in a monotone, “I honestly didn’t think you’d answer.”

Gio chuckles on the other end of the line. “Then why’d you call?” The words hurt, even though they obviously weren’t intended to.

Max huffs. “I… um…” He can picture the quizzical, playful expression that Gio always had on his face when he couldn’t get out a sentence.

“We really need to talk. This isn’t an emergency as in life or death, so I’m sorry if that’s a waste of your time, but this is important to me.” He feels bold being upfront about his feelings. A month ago, he would have apologized and hung up at this point. Baby steps.

“Alright, so what’s going on with you?” _He just doesn’t get it_ , Max thinks. Picking up on others’ feelings -- especially negative ones -- was never one of Gio’s strong suits. Of course, he’d never hold it against him. Empathy is draining, especially when you’re constantly occupied with work and becoming a star.

Max could work it out over the phone, without having to stare him in the eye and say how hurt he’s been. Tonight, though, he’s got nothing to lose. The only thing (or person) he wants needs to be earned again.

“I was thinking we’d chat in person. I assume you remember where my apartment is.”

There’s silence. Clearly, he’s taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m free, but it’s been a while.”

“I know. But I need you here.” Max has to refrain from slapping himself at how desperate he sounds. He’s learning to spit the words out before he can change his mind or take them back.

He’s expecting another long pause of consideration, but to his surprise, Aquaria doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll call an uber. See you soon.” Before he can say goodbye, the line clicks. He flops onto his bed and sighs, staring at his ceiling. What had he gotten himself into? If only he had stayed on task reorganizing his room, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe organizing his life deserved to be his top priority for once.

He could either be completely fucked, or get completely fucked. He hopes it’s the latter. Now, there’s nothing left to do but wait, so he reaches for the remote and turns on the television, though he’s not paying much attention since his mind won’t stop racing.

 _Oh god, I’m actually going to have to see him. That is, if he even comes._ There was always a sliver of doubt that Gio was just playing with him, laughing at how eager he was to bring him back home. Aquaria would walk away if she knew how badly Max needed to see her. To see Gio and his fluffy hair and warm brown eyes and crinkly smile. Aquaria probably died laughing after hanging up because she forgot about the silly fling that ended up falling in love with her, and now he was trying to win her back.  
Max squeezes his eyes shut and huffs. There’s nothing he can do: Gio is either coming or he’s not. His mind wanders to the blurred line of imagination and reality, glowing memories being smudged by Aquaria secretly having hated him the whole time. Right? Why else would she suddenly cut anything to do with him out of her life?

He’s starting to drift off, as much as he hates it, but he could use a goddamn nap after the emotional rollercoaster of his life. He thinks about plenty of fleeting, useless things, but in the back of his mind is the sinking dread of Giovanni Palandrani and the things that boy does to him. The rain tapping on his windowsill doesn’t help to keep him alert either.

He jolts awake to a knock at the door.

_Fuck. This is happening._

He rubs his eyes, red from sleep and tears, and hops off of the bed. The walk to the door seems a lot more suspenseful than he remembers.

He pulls open the door without bothering to look through the peephole and sees the face he’s been trying to avoid but keeps running back to, out of breath and soaked. He looks disheveled but concerned, _and oh my god did he really_ \--

“Sorry it took so long, I basically had to sprint over here to make it because traffic was terrible and now I’m sopping wet so sorry about that too--”

\-- and that’s all it takes for Max to throw his arms around him, hands clutching the wet fabric of his black hoodie, chest heaving as his sobs rip their way through his body. The final bricks keeping his emotions in that were weak to begin with have all crumbled, leaving just the blur of the world in the background of relief. Gio instinctively pulls him closer to his torso, his hands rubbing up and down his back. It’s funny how after so long apart, home is still in his arms.

Gio rests his head on the shorter man’s shoulder, still protecting him from all the hurt that he knows he’s caused. He knows, and it’s hung over him like an anvil on a string ever since he made the worst mistake of his life. He just hopes that whatever he can do will be enough.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Gio murmurs, nudging Max in the direction of his bedroom but not loosening his cocooning hold. He wishes he could squeeze out all of the tears. He hates seeing the witty, bubbly Max so hopelessly broken.

“Up,” Gio says, and just like old times, Max jumps and wraps his legs around Gio’s waist. It’s nice for him to be carried again, but usually when Gio initiated it, it was for other, more fun reasons. He feels a little childish, but his gratefulness overwhelms every lick of embarrassment.

Gio lifts him onto the covers of his bed and soon lies down next to him, pulling a fleece blanket over them both. He reaches out to wipe a tear off of Max’s cheek in a caress that lingers. Max has been reduced to silent tears, but Gio can tell how hard he’s trying to suppress the wails hiccupping in his chest.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Tell me everything that hurts. I’ve got time now.”

Max’s shoulders tremble with every breath, his tears still flowing from his eyes in a shaky, tide-like rhythm. They blur his vision of the man staring at him mere inches away, but he knows every in and out of that face like it was a place that was his own, or that used to be. There’s so many things screaming to be said, but his tongue blocks them at his throat. All he can do is shake his head and clutch the blanket.

“Okay. I’m gonna talk you through this until you can. Stop me whenever, I’ll understand,” Gio says with ease. Max says a silent thank you for the understanding.

“I just wanna start this off by saying I am so, so sorry. There’s no excuse for what I did to you but I want to explain why I made the worst mistake of my life.” He reaches for the remote and turns off the TV.

“Why,” Max chokes out. The single word sends guilt rushing through Gio’s body, even though it’s fully deserved. He feels himself start to tear up, but shakes it off. He’s gotta stay strong for Max.

“This was probably the stupidest way for me to handle it, but I… ugh. I’m so immature. I never thought someone like you would be able to tolerate an annoying brat like me. I was always too excited with whatever we did, and I thought you hated it --”

“Never.” One word responses weren’t ideal, but they were enough. Gio strokes the top of Max’s head tentatively and doesn’t meet resistance, so he delicately tangles his fingers in the soft, mousy brown hair. God, he’s missed this.

“You always said that you liked me, but it felt fake? Obviously you’d never lie to me but I thought you were trying to spare my feelings.”

Now that he’s come down from his dizzy cyclone of feeling, Max furrows his brow. “Gio, I wouldn’t have put that much effort into everything we did if I didn’t like you.”

Gio nervously glances off to the side, then returns his gaze to the small frame of the only person he’s ever missed. “I didn’t mean just liking me. This is kind of my fault for never wanting to make things official but… fuck, Max, I fell in love with you.”

Max’s brown eyes widen; he’s unsure if it’s out of disgust or shock. Probably both.  
“It was so much, so fast, that I panicked and sent that stupid fucking text that I’ve regretted every goddamn day. I’ll never solve the hell I put you through but I owed you this explanation and a huge apology. And I get it if you don’t want me back.”

It’s Max’s turn to reach out and stroke the other man’s hair. He moves his other hand to Gio’s shoulder and scooches closer to him on the bed.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he breathes. Gio pulls him into another tight hug, just like the photograph that began the whole mess. For once, Max feels something in his heart that doesn’t hurt with his head nestled in the crook of Gio’s neck, lips dangerously close to his collarbone.

Max waits for the warm and fuzzies to settle in his chest before he pulls back and sits up, and Gio follows suit. His eyes dart to the spots on the mattress on either side of Gio’s legs and he thinks of the last time he had sat there. That had led to an eventful night

“Is this okay?” he asks. There’s no need to clarify: there’s a reason they had clicked so well. 

At the cue of Gio’s nod, Max swings a leg around to straddle him and leans forward, crashing their lips together after so long apart, mouths moving in desperation, apologies, and forgiveness. Max tugs on Gio’s hair -- it’s gotten longer -- and feels him instinctively moan into his mouth. He pulls again, harder this time, and elicits a similar vocal response. He can’t hold back the smirk, but keeps kissing his Gio.

Gio, of course, never forgot Max’s sensitive spots either: his hand ghosts up and down his neck and make him shudder. He sits up straighter, pulling Max farther down onto his lap. Max breaks their lips apart, not to say anything, but to get to work on Gio’s collarbone.

“F- fuck off.” It’s hard for him to get the words out through his whines. Max chuckles, but keeps gently biting the soft skin.

“You know, I -- _ah_ \-- I don’t have plans all day tomorrow.” Gio’s words are weighted with devillish implications. Max, tired of words, grinds his hips down as a response to hear the groan come out of Gio like a forgotten favorite song.

He pulls back to admire his work: a pale red bruise slowly forming on his neck. “I would love that.”

He wastes no time in getting Gio’s shirt off of him. If the noises he made were songs, his torso was an entire discography: he could drink up the sight of it forever.

“Why’d you stop?” he playfully asks, not expecting a response.

“You’re stunning,” Max blurts, and he could swear he sees Gio’s cheeks flush red.

Impatient as always, Gio makes grabby hands as he pulls Max’s shirt over his head.

“Don’t you think you’re any less stunning,” he says, stars in his eyes. Max gives him a playful shove. Suddenly, he has an idea. 

“Stay right here.” Max crawls out of the bed and disappears from the room momentarily.

He comes back with a polaroid camera in hand. “I thought we’d recreate my most prized possession.” Gio nods, pleased.

He hops back up onto the bed (given that it’s tall for someone as short as him) and presses one more kiss to Gio’s chest. The smiles come naturally when he lays his head down, and the burst of light cements the ephemeral moment as eternal.

If love was a losing game, Max was lucky enough to have beaten the odds. Looking into the eyes of his love as he plants kisses down his chest, he’s positive he’s won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the love on the first chapter, it definitely motivated me to bang the conclusion out! hope you all enjoyed it and thanks for reading <3

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a while since I updated Under The Blue (which you should check out if you haven't already), but I'll be gone for a few days and I didn't totally want to leave you guys hanging! Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it, and I'll hopefully get the second part to this up (and maybe another chapter of UTB) after the long weekend! :)


End file.
